A spinning crystal shattered against a broken piece of the Labyrinth. It was thrown with unusual feebleness, and the whole of the Underground fell into disapproving silence. At least that was the way it seemed to its King.
In reality, as much in reality as anything in the Underground could be right now, Silence's reign here began upon Sarah's dramatic exit. When Jareth returned to his crumbling home, a twisted reflection of his crumbling power, Silence had already come, filling the place with an eerie, deceptive calm. Somewhere far off, in the heart of the forest Labyrinth, the Fieries still danced and howled, the Goblins and Dwarves were still scuttling aimlessly amid the broken and cutoff pieces of the Labyrinth itself, and even the fairies hadn't altogether disappeared. All of this Jareth knew and felt, but his emotions were so raw and nerves so stretched at this point in time, that the Underground might as well have been an abandoned battlefield.
Which it is, he thought wearily, feeling power drain from him, like blood from a wound.
He knew that he had suffered defeat, that his intended victim had escaped, and that these were the consequences the possibility of which he had known and accepted from the very beginning. He knew that right now rebuilding needed to be done, resting and regaining of at least enough power to function. Then he would be able to pull together a simpler, less dramatic labyrinth, trap some easy prey, and continue climbing out of this pit of despair he now found himself in.
But in order for that to happen, he had to forget this role of his, had to forget this particular game, had to put it all away and stop dwelling on the past.
He needed to forget Sarah.
All of this the logical part of him knew and commanded to be done. Yet, for the first time ever, it was ignored. Hour after hour, than day after day, Jareth continued to sit amidst the broken pieces of her dreams which he had created for her, arranged and presented, and which now resembled nothing but a heap of junk. Immortal, he could not die, but loosing power at this rate would turn him into a mere shadow, and then all hope of ever rebuilding would be utterly lost.
But to forget Sarah and move on was utterly impossible.
He loved her.
He loved her.
The role-playing part of him could no longer be suppressed.
He loved her.
She had made it happen.
"But the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl….and he had given her special powers…" she had said, a wry smile twisting her mouth. Little did she know that her arsenal of powers now contained that insignificant little one of ruling his entire being. Her vision of him was helplessly in love with its creator.
His first real attempt to do something about this, other than think of her and suffer, came to a crash and burn sort of an ending just now. Trying to use Toby was the former Goblin King's first attempt to get to her.
She had cut him off so completely, that he could no longer enter her dreams. And how was he to get her to understand his feelings if he couldn't even do that? Toby was his only chance, but the baby's mind, though tinged by the Labyrinth, was not easily maneuverable, especially in the former King's weak state. Still, he had to try, and try he did. Nearly successfully at first.
But Sarah's thoughts of the final words sent him reeling from pain, and he could do nothing to prevent her from slamming the door on all the things that might serve to remind her of him.
Yet, the whole episode had served some of its intended purpose, as she was now constantly thinking about the Labyrinth and her journey through his realm. And writing about it – which aided him immensely. A thought containing him, set down in writing, helped him balance on the edge of her unconsciousness which she had mercilessly shoved him towards… And that was the first step to getting into her subconscious. That first step was taken. Too late to turn back now. She had to see, had to understand.
He could not live without her, banished from living within her.
She was asleep now.
Jareth tried to picture her.
His crystals were weak and blurry, and it was easier to rely on his memory.
As he thought of his loneliness, his love for her, his despair and the now accursed immortality, the thoughts and images meshed themselves together, forging into words, melting, gaining in malleability and strength, pouring out of him into the surrounding atmosphere, forming an iridescent cocoon and stretching small but steady rivulets towards the one person occupying his mind and heart.
It came as a whisper at first, unsteady, unsure – barely treading on the edge of her hearing. But as she listened, it grew in clarity and volume, coming at her, to her, into her, filling her up with something sweet and bitter, searing her heart and chilling her to the bone at the same time.
A thousand years, a thousand more,
A thousand times a million doors to eternity…
I may have lived a thousand lives, a thousand times
An endless turning stairway climbs
To a tower of souls…
If it takes another thousand years, a thousand wars,
The towers rise to numberless floors in space…
I could shed another million tears, a million breaths,
A million names but only one truth to face…
Images rose up to meet her curious mind, images of a familiar shadow she allowed herself to see no more. The voice, too, was so oddly familiar, but the tone of it was completely new to her… she listened in wonder.
A million roads, a million fears
A million suns, ten million years of uncertainty…
I could speak a million lies, a million songs,
A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time…
But if there was a single truth, a single light
A single thought, a singular touch of grace…
She moved closer to him in her dream, up, over some broken pieces of rubbish. Everything was so hazy that she could barely make him out. But the voice sounded clearer the more she listened, and she followed it, almost without meaning to, drawn to its source by its unmasked sadness and pain and an inhuman gentleness.
Then following this single point , this single flame,
The single haunted memory of your face…
I still love you
I still want you
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves
Like galaxies in my head
She could make out a faint glow around the silhouette, but not more.
I may be numberless, I may be innocent
I may know many things, I may be ignorant…
Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands
Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands…
Or wear this pilgrim's cloak, or be a common thief
I've kept this single faith, I have but one belief:
Sarah stepped closer yet, straining to make out his features.
I still love you
I still want you
But when she came near enough, wishing it wasn't so dark, and looked again, she saw a clock face on the place where the singer had been sitting.
The carved barn owl lifted its wings up at an unnatural angle, forming the clocks hands which pointed at a large 13 at wich Sarah now stared in fear and apprehension.
The chiming started, and the voice she so wanted to see began to fade slowly but unstoppably out of her hearing.
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves
Like galaxies in my head…
On and on the mysteries unwind themselves
Eternities still unsaid..
'til you
love
me…
And then something came up behind her, brushing her hair back from her face with a cool, feathery touch.
Turning sharply, Sarah cried out and fell.
And woke up, reaching for her notebook and pen, like a child for its safety blanket.